Every Christmas Story Needs a Bloody Nose
by NNNNsic
Summary: Let's pretend Grissom accepted the sabbatical he was offered a few episodes ago. And let's pretend he left, oh, yesterday? Okay, read on. GSR


Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. I don't write for CSI. Sometimes I watch it, though.

They didn't talk very much.

When he left for Williamstown, very little was said. It was work. A seminar. He didn't talk about a burnout. He didn't talk about wanting time away from her. It was just…one of those silent explanations that never really took place. He mumbled some words; Sara nodded and kept a stiff upper lip. They had dinner, they had unusually active sex, and he left.

He left.

He left, and they didn't talk very much. He spent a week preparing his graduate seminar in Williamstown, and then headed to southern California to spend a few days with his mother for Christmas, fully intending to fly directly back to Massachusetts.

They didn't talk very much, but occasionally, more often than he wanted, he couldn't help calling her.

"Eh, I'm doing okay. I got Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off, but I'm on call for both," Sara went on. "I… I don't think I could risk driving down there…" she sighed, not quite willing to delve into the longing she really felt. What was he doing, anyway, traipsing across the country without her? Did she expect anything more at this point? Did she expect anything less, really?

"No, don't do that," he soothed. It was perplexing, how complicated things had become. Why did she feel like home, to him? Why was he longing for her—yes, sexually, but more… emotionally? It puzzled him, his love for her. He suspected it always would.

"How's your mom?" she asked out of the blue, making him smile.

"She's fine." It was after a few seconds of silence that he sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing, Sara," he moaned, feeling the slight tingle that indicated the onset of a migraine.

"It's okay." She didn't know what he was doing either, but somehow, she'd managed to grin and hope for the best when he took off on her. "You'll be back in three months."

"No, I mean. Never mind." It wasn't the time. It never seemed the right time to talk to her.

"Look," she spat out, pausing to collect herself and force a deep breath. "If you want to just… move on…" Oh, this was a horrible thing to discuss on the telephone, in different states, potentially, in different mental states as well. "From me…please just tell me…"

"That's not what I want." Thank God it sounded heartfelt, because it was. If she started crying, he could very well pitch it all and propose, like a loser, over the telephone, like a desperate, loser of a man, defeated by a young and beautiful woman. "But, I do think I'm running from you," he managed, voice gravelly and sincere.

Sara blinked, licked her lips, swallowed and took that in for everything it could possibly mean.

Perhaps foolishly, she dared to ask. "Why?"

His eyes widened, and he felt downright put on the spot. "It's my nature?" he tried, not quite pulling off a lightening of the mood.

"So, is it your nature to ever run back?" The tears that formed in her eyes were evil little traitors, and she blinked feverishly, straightening her spine in a desperate attempt at independence.

"I don't know. I've never had a woman hang around for this long."

Sara tried to smile, but it wouldn't form. Grissom was a sad, miserable man, and damn her for being in love with him. Damn _him_ for giving her a glimpse of the prize.

She wanted to warn him, be bitchy, wanted to tell him she wouldn't stick around forever, but she knew that would probably be a lie. Probably? She almost laughed. It was a lie.

Grissom's mother suddenly appeared from her afternoon nap, squinting at him, signing something in a flurry. "Hey, uh, I have to go…"

Sara had barely whispered an I love you and a good bye when he hung up.

Three days later, on Christmas Eve, Grissom watched Sara work a scene, a stabbing in one of the seedier parts of downtown Vegas. He watched the officers hover, watched Sara bend and photograph the body, watched her help David raise the gurney. Why did she have to be on call? It was ridiculous really, that this is what he'd been reduced to—a stalker, sitting in a car, watching. On Christmas Eve.

Watching Sara.

He couldn't just waltz up to her, he'd convinced himself. Nobody knew he was back in town. He didn't want to explain, or rather, he wasn't ready to explain. To anyone. The fact was, he just wanted to see her. He hadn't explained much, even to his mother. No, she'd just given him a knowing glance and a kiss on his cheek when he left. Mothers. Leave it to them to just _know_ stuff.

He watched the officers wander away—not far, but leaving half a block between themselves and Sara. He'd have to move quickly.

It was amazing how little thought he put into his approach. Calling her cell phone would have been smart, but no, behaving intelligently wasn't in the cards. He came up behind her and put his hand over her mouth, which prompted a swift backwards kick to his shin and a sharp elbow in his gut.

"Hey! Ow!" he managed, wrapping his arms around his middle while raising his stinging leg.

Sara growled and spun around, shoving the heel of her hand under his nose with a force that shocked and stunned him. "Grissom!" she screamed when she recognized him.

"Damn, Sara!" He was clutching his nose. "What the hell…"

Sara saw blood and panicked, reaching for him with a gasp. "Shit!"

"Shhh! Don't… c'mere…" Weakly, he dragged her behind a dumpster.

"I'm so sorry! Gil!"

"Shh!"

"I almost killed you!"

"You did not," he argued, and then he laughed at the absurdity of it all.

"Here." She'd dug a tissue out of her pocket and offered it to him. "What are you doing here?" There was sweet delight in her accusatory tone, and somewhere deep down, it pleased him.

"I wanted to surprise you. I didn't think you'd be working. I've been waiting for you all night."

She took a few seconds to process that and still found herself confused. "And you thought you'd just attack me at a crime scene?"

"No, I…." He blinked, wiped his nose, sniffled and looked at the tissue. "That was dumb, wasn't it?"

She grinned at him, holding back a giddy laugh. There was a shy moment where they just examined each other. Then she looked around, leaned up and kissed him. Lightly.

"I missed you. Already." She wasn't thrilled, admitting that, but let it go for the moment. No, instead, she found herself thinking about what he'd said on the phone last week. He'd said he was running from her. And here he was. He ran back.

He came back.

It wasn't right, how emotional, how full of love, how sexually attracted to him she felt. "How long are you here?"

"Two days. The day after Christmas I've got to get back to Massachusetts and get ready for—"

The kiss she initiated was more passionate that she intended. Or maybe not. She couldn't think straight. God, she'd missed him.

"Shit. I have to finish this," she huffed, pulling herself away from him.

"I know. It's okay. I'll go to your apartment and wait for you."

"You will?" She didn't mean to sound so surprised. "I—I don't want to be here," she assured him, feeling torn and conflicted and more like a mess than she had in years.

He gave a quick look in the direction the officer had wandered. "I'd help you finish, but… nobody knows I'm in town, and…"

"Get out of here. I'll be home as soon as I can."

Satisfied, he squeezed her hand. Then he kissed it and gave one last smack on her lips.

When Sara entered her apartment in the very early hours of Christmas morning, she found Grissom asleep on her couch. Savoring the moment to sneak up and adore him, she hovered nearby, sighing with wonder at how old and young he could look in the very same instant. He opened his eyes when she stood over him and blinked himself awake with a long breath.

"Hi."

Her smile was shy and wide. "Hi, how's your nose?"

He scrunched it with a pout, and she laughed. "C'mere."

She fell on top of him then, molding herself against his body. He held her, tighter than he ever had before. The warmth of her weight on top of him, the feel of her silky hair, the smell of her—fabric softener and the faint scent of latex gloves—all combined to overwhelm his senses. Even her bony hips jutting into his stomach felt perfectly right.

"Merry Christmas, Sara…"

She smiled and closed her eyes, wanting him to squeeze her again, pleased beyond belief when he did. "Merry Christmas." Some idiotically romantic part of her brain wanted him to call off his seminar and never leave Las Vegas again.

"It's going to be hard to go back to Massachusetts," he mumbled into her ear.

"It'll be hard for me to let you go," she responded against his cheek.

It was a few minutes before he spoke again. "I think we should have as much sex as possible in the next thirty-six hours."

Her laugh was loud and full of relief, and almost immediately, her smile filled his heart with an indescribable sense of peace.

"You think so?"

"Yes."

She pecked his lips, concentrating hard on the dimple in his chin. "Know what I think?"

"What?"

Yes, that dimple. The stubble along his jaw. The beauty and charm that lay within his flawed teeth and contradictorily perfect lips. She was concentrating all right, anything to avoid looking at his eyes. "I think…you've got it bad for me."

Naturally, he didn't respond until she looked up. "I've never claimed anything else."

Sara lowered her eyes and blushed, and he smirked at the beauty of it. He started removing her blouse, and she started kissing his earlobe.

No, they didn't talk very much.

THE END.


End file.
